


follow the fault line

by butterflysky



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Batfamily (DCU), Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Christmas, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Bonding, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Jason Todd Angst, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd is Robin, rated for slight language and mild violence, slight character death (it's jason tho he comes back)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27083452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflysky/pseuds/butterflysky
Summary: “What?” Jason asks warily, when Bruce sits down. Bruce waits until Jason's sat down too, on the other side of the room, before he starts talking.“I was wondering, Jason, how you’d feel about spending more time here,” Bruce says, carefully, like he’s considered every word.(How Jason Todd joined, left and eventually re-joined the Batfamily.)
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd, Batfamily Members & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 9
Kudos: 316





	follow the fault line

It’s the biggest house Jason’s _ever_ been in. 

There’s a huge staircase sweeping up to the floor above right in front of him, a chandelier twinkling above it, and what looks like a truly massive room with a fireplace and arrangement of plush sofas arranged around it to his right. 

He feels completely, hopelessly out of his depth, like the one time his ma’d taken him swimming when he was younger and his arm bands hadn’t been all that great, and he’d bobbed underwater in the deep end over and over and kept resurfacing spluttering and coughing. 

Jason, uncomfortably, draws his ratty old coat closer around him. It’s the only coat he has, and the warmest he’s ever managed to snag. If he ends up losing it _here,_ he’ll never make it through winter. 

“May I take your coat, young sir?” 

Jason jumps, turns to the old guy next to him, and rubs his arms nervously. “Uh, no. I wanna keep it on.”

“As you wish,” the man says, but he seems to look even closer at Jason. Probably noting how deep the pockets are in the coat. Jason’s sure he could fit a hell of a lot of silverware in there, if he wanted to. 

“You’ll boil if you leave that on,” Bruce says mildly, and Jason squints suspiciously up at him.

“I’ll keep it,” he repeats, more forcefully, and Bruce nods and lets it go. 

“Jason, this is Alfred,” Bruce says, gesturing to the old guy. Jason sizes him up, looks at the white gloves and the stiff black suit he’s wearing. 

“Nice to meet you, Master Jason,” Alfred says politely. Jason stares, then reluctantly shakes the hand offered to him. 

“Yeah, you too,” Jason mutters. 

“You hungry?” Bruce asks, and Jason jumps. That sounds a lot like what the Bat'd asked him a few weeks back, before the mess with Ma Gunn that’d lead to him stepping inside _Bruce Wayne’s manor._

It’s a common question, he tells himself, and nods warily. 

“Come through to the kitchen with us,” Bruce says, and gestures for him to walk ahead. 

“I don’t know the way,” Jason says stupidly, but Alfred smoothly overtakes them and leads them through to a _huge_ kitchen with granite countertops and an actual island and everything. 

“What would you like?” Bruce asks, taking a seat at the island. Jason copies him. “Sandwiches? Pasta? Soup?”

Jason’s mouth drops open. “Um. Anything. Thanks.”

Alfred and Bruce share a look Jason can’t decipher, then Alfred quietly goes about starting to make something. 

“I can—I can make it myself,” Jason tries. 

“Nonsense, Master Jason,” Alfred says, but he sounds weirdly kind, so Jason doesn't bristle. 

“Alfred does the cooking round here,” Bruce says with a little self-deprecating laugh. “I’m afraid I’m hopeless at it.”

Jason doesn’t doubt it. Wayne’s a fancy rich guy who sits in his big office every day filling out reports, or whatever. When’s a guy like that got time to _cook?_

“Right,” Jason says, awkwardly, into the silence. This place sure is quiet. No sirens, no drunkards yelling, no couples screaming at each other. It’s like Gotham is miles away, instead of just down the hill. 

Alfred lays a plate with a perfectly square sandwich in front of him, cut into two halves. Jason picks one up, eyes darting up to Alfred, who’s looking back at him. 

“Thanks,” Jason mutters, then tries to eat it as delicately as he can. It’s weird with them both staring at him like that, but whatever. He’s hungry, he’ll deal. 

It’s not long before he has to go back to the temporary home he’s in, anyway. 

Bruce has been coming to visit him a lot, lately, but this is the first time Jason’s actually gone back to the manor with him. Jason’s not really sure what the point of this all is, but he’s not going to turn down spending time in a warm house with free food. 

Although, Bruce was right. He _is_ sweating in his coat. 

When Jason’s finished eating, Alfred sweeps his plate away and starts washing it up immediately. 

“I can—” Jason starts, but Bruce lays a hand on his arm and Jason jumps and falls silent. 

“Come with me, Jason,” he says, and Jason slips off his stool and follows him out to that fancy room with all the sofas and the fireplace. 

“What?” Jason asks warily, when Bruce sits down. Bruce waits until Jason's sat down too, on the other side of the room, before he starts talking. 

“I was wondering, Jason, how you’d feel about spending more time here,” Bruce says, carefully, like he’s considered every word. 

Jason’s brows knit together. “Uh, fine I guess.” Bruce is kinda growing on him, with how many times he’s shown up with a bag of fast food for them to share. And how many times he’s spoken with him and actually _listened._

“On a more permanent basis,” Bruce clarifies, and Jason’s eyes go wide. 

“What?” he breathes, then flushes and looks away at how stunned he’d sounded. 

“If you’d like, I’ve been talking with your social worker, and—”

His voice fades away. All Jason can think about is staying here, _living_ here, in this giant house with a billionaire and his butler. The fancy school Bruce would probably send him to. The three square meals a day Alfred would probably make for him. Evenings sitting in this room with the fire blazing. Nights spent in a bed, warm and safe and stomach full. 

Does he want that? 

Of _course_ he wants that. 

But can he really have it?

Jason studies Bruce carefully, sees how nervous he looks, the slight twitching to his fingers where they’re folded in his lap, the crease of his forehead. 

He looks genuine, Jason thinks. He doesn’t…look like he’s offering this just to take it away. 

“I’d like that,” Jason says quickly, before the silence he’s only just become aware of can stretch on long enough for Bruce to start backtracking. “I’d, um, like that a lot.”

Bruce smiles at him. 

“This is _so cool!_ ” Jason yells, and does a backflip just because he can, now. His yellow cape flaps around him and he laughs gleefully.

“Do watch the tea, Master Jason,” Alfred says mildly, holding his tray of tea cups carefully. 

“Master _Robin,_ ” Jason corrects, with a wild grin. He punches the air a few times. “I can’t _wait_ to see some bad guys later.”

“Jason,” Bruce says, in that warning tone he uses whenever Jason’s about to do something Bruce deems ‘reckless’, like practice his handstands on the bannister or something. “Tonight’s a test run, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason says, and tries a cartwheel towards the Batmobile for the hell of it. He jumps back to his feet with a _whoop._

He wonders how many test runs Dick had to do before he was cleared for the field, but the usual sour feeling can’t poison the sheer _glee_ bubbling through him at finally wearing the green, red and yellow. 

“Night’s wasting, old man!” Jason yells, and the grin that stretches across his face could split his cheeks when Bruce finishes his coffee, rolls his eyes, and pulls the cowl on. 

“Let’s go then, Robin.”

“You’re not _thinking_ enough, Jason,” Dick says, all faux-disappointed, and Jason stands up on the training mat and glares at him. 

“It’s _Robin_ now,” he hisses, just for the satisfaction of watching hurt flicker across Dick’s face before he smooths it away. “Dickwing.”

“Clever,” Dick deadpans, then whacks him with his stupid sticks again. 

“Quit it!” Jason yells. 

“Fight smarter,” Dick counters. 

Jason glares harder and dives for him, and Dick catches him by the wrist and flings him over his shoulder like he’s nothing. 

Jason rolls over and tries to sweep Dick’s legs out from under him, but the bastard’s quick, and he dodges easily. 

“Too slow,” he taunts, and Jason actually _growls_ and then he just _lunges_ at him. 

He takes Dick aback enough that he manages to barrel him to the ground, satisfied by the shocked little _oof_ that comes out of Dick’s mouth, and draws his fist back to give Nightwing a nice black and blue shiner to match his dumb outfit when Bruce snaps, “ _Jason._ ”

Jason drops his arm and scrambles off Dick immediately. “What?” he snaps back, defensive, hackles rising. 

“That didn’t look like a move you’ve been taught,” Bruce says, thin-lipped and disapproving. 

“No, but it’s a move I taught _myself,_ ” Jason says, furious. Throwing himself in someone’s direction and hoping they went down was something he’d done way more than he should’ve when he was on the streets, or hopping from one abandoned room to the next in Crime Alley. 

“You won’t be using it again,” Bruce says coolly. Between them, Dick sits up, shuffles backwards awkwardly. 

“Won’t I?” Jason demands. He can’t keep his cool like Bruce can. “What’re you gonna do if I do, huh? Fire me?”

Dick flinches at that. 

“Consider yourself benched,” Bruce says, and he’s moved from cool to cold. “Until I judge you calm enough for the field again.”

Jason gapes at him, but Bruce turns and leaves the cave without another word. Jason looks back at Dick, furious, about to insist this was all his fault when Dick just shakes his head at him and stands up. 

“Good improvising, little wing,” he says lowly, “but if you want my advice—”

“I _don’t_ ,” Jason says loudly. “And I told you to stop fucking calling me that!”

Dick gives him a disappointed look, then shakes his head and walks away.

Jason, alone in the cave, bites his bottom lip until it bleeds to stop the wetness in his eyes from spilling over. 

Benched, _again,_ and this time for something so _stupid._

Bruce, of all people, telling him he’s not over his parents’ deaths? That he’s not _stable_ enough to be in the field?

It doesn’t matter. Jason’s out of here. Now that he knows about Sheila, anyway. 

Bruce won’t miss him. 

Jason hasn’t spoken to Bruce in five years. 

He’s imagined the conversation countless times, so often that he thinks he knows exactly what Bruce will say and when, and how Jason will argue back. 

But now, seeing him fight that ginormous android with Nightwing, Jason feels sick.

He’s planned this, he _knows_ how this is going to go, and still. Still. 

Later. The real talk will come later. But for now…

He lines up his first shot, and takes it. 

When his helmet hits the ground and rolls, Bruce stares at him. He’s not surprised, because he knew, of course he knew. Jason can’t pinpoint when exactly Bruce would’ve figured it out, but it clearly wasn’t right then. 

“Jason.”

That’s all Bruce has to say. Not, _son_ or _I missed you_ or _thank god you’re here._

Jason’s lips curl in a sneer. “That’s right, old man. Disappointed?”

Bruce keeps staring at him, and Jason can’t take it, hates the weight of those eyes, so he starts the fight again just so he can stop thinking. 

They fight across the rooftops, closer and closer towards where Jason has the clown tied up and waiting for them, and through it all Bruce never says a word. 

Of course, Jason thinks bitterly, as he dodges another blow. Of course Bruce wouldn’t say a thing. Why had he ever imagined any differently?

They get to where Jason wants them, where he’s been leading this all along, and right as things are about to get interesting a massive, sickly green explosion rocks the earth behind them. 

Bludhaven. Gone. 

Jason stares, and then Bruce breathes, “ _Dick._ ”

Nightwing. The favorite son. Of course. 

Bruce turns back to him, stricken. 

“ _No,_ ” Jason says. “This is between you and me. He’s got nothing to do with it.”

“But—”

“He’s _dead,_ ” Jason snaps, furious, ferocious. Bruce flinches. “Another son blown up while you weren't there. How’s it feel?”

Bruce’s mouth snaps shut. Jason sees him retreat into himself, sees the walls go back up. 

Shame. They’ll be down again in a minute. 

The first time he sees Bruce again after all _that,_ they’re both in their gear. 

Some random, no-name thug is about to get a lucky shot through Batman’s ripped suit, and Jason doesn’t even think before he leaps from his hiding place above and knocks the gun from his hands. A particularly hard punch has the thug down. 

When he straightens back up, Bruce is staring at him. 

“Red Hood,” Bruce says gruffly, and Jason nods once in acknowledgement before he grapples away. 

It takes a while, a _long_ while, but eventually occasionally intervening when a Bat or a Bird is about to die turns into occasionally helping one of them out, to occasionally working with one of them, to occasionally helping out in an all hands on deck type of situation. 

The first time back in the cave, he stares at the training mats, the dinosaur, the giant penny. 

The memorial case. 

He hates it so much it almost makes him sick, but then Tim and Damian burst into a particularly fierce round of bickering and he’s distracted enough the nausea fades. 

Dick comes up beside him and touches him lightly on the elbow. “You okay little wing? Looking a little pale, there.”

“I’m nocturnal, what do you expect,” Jason forces out. His voice sounds tight even to him. Dick follows his eyes to the memorial case, and the touch to his elbow turns into a tight grip. 

“Hey, I’ll talk to B—”

“I’ll do it,” Jason says, shrugging Dick off. “I can handle my own damn problems, Dickie.”

“Didn’t say you couldn’t,” Dick says, and sighs, and leaves him alone. 

Alone by the training mats, just like all those years ago. He feels ill again. 

Alfred joins him, with a tray of perfectly square sandwiches. “Hungry, Master Jason?”

“Always hungry for your cooking, Alfie,” Jason says gratefully, and grabs two squares. “Thanks.”

Alfred gives him a warm smile, then moves on to where the family are crowding around the Batcomputer, around Bruce.

Jason, after a moment, follows him. 

“ _I_ think The Lost World outclasses Jurassic World in literally every way,” Jason declares, just for the joy of watching Damian’s face go bright red and screw up in anger. 

“You’re wrong, Todd. As usual. Jurassic World has—”

“Will you two give it a rest,” Tim says tiredly, from where he sits on the roof beside them. “We’re supposed to be on a stakeout.”

“Who says stakeouts can’t be fun?” Jason insists. “Finish your sentence, Brat Wonder.”

“As I was saying,” Damian begins loftily, but then Jason’s earpiece crackles and Bruce’s voice is on the line. 

“Hood. I need you over on the East side.”

“But the stakeout,” Jason protests, then he hears a burst of gunfire from Bruce’s end of the line and jumps to his feet. “On my way.”

“Don’t leave me,” Tim says mournfully, as Jason fires his grapple and flies into the night.

Bruce is pinned down by dozens of Two Face’s men, but Jason has surprise on his side, and it doesn’t take him long to even the odds. 

Soon, they’ve got the thugs down and cuffed, waiting for the GCPD to swing by and pick them all up. Jason didn’t even seriously wound anyone, let alone kill them. 

“Nice work, old man,” Jason says approvingly, and extends his hand for a fist bump just for the hell of it. To his absolute shock, Bruce absently returns it. 

“You did very well, Hood,” he says, and Jason’s so glad he’s got the helmet on because he’s staring wide eyed and open mouthed. 

“Um. Thanks.”

“Come back to the cave later to get that scratch looked at,” Bruce says, gesturing at the strip of skin Jason’s jacket doesn’t cover. There’s the world’s shallowest cut there, so thin it barely drew blood, and Jason grins wryly to himself. 

“Sure thing, B.”

Christmas in Gotham is bitingly cold, marked by icy gray skies and dirtied slush lining the roads, haphazardly cleaned away overnight. 

Jason stands in the manor’s grounds, bundled into a huge coat and scarf at Alfred’s insistence, catching snowflakes on the tip of his tongue while Dick, Steph, Cass and Barbara have a very intense snowball fight ahead of him. Alfred is sitting calmly on a bench across from them all, reading a book like nothing’s happening. 

“Got ya!” Steph declares in triumph, when she has Nightwing flat on his back and covered in snow. A second later, a snowball hits her in the back of the head, courtesy of Tim, who’s about three seconds away from having snow dumped on his head by Damian. “You traitor!” Steph cries, and the battle restarts in earnest. 

Jason catches himself watching fondly. He’s getting soft. 

When his phone buzzes, he’s got unanswered texts from Roy, Artemis, and Kory flooding his home screen. He smiles widely to himself. 

Roy’s sent him a selfie of himself in the most hideous Christmas jumper Jason has ever seen, Lian beaming in his lap, and his message reads simply: _she picked it. Merry Christmas from both of us, Jaybird!_

Kory’s message is one of those that plays fireworks when you open it, and it reads _The happiest of holidays to you, Jason!_ and then some neon pink hearts fly around his screen for good measure. 

Artemis has sent him a picture of her and Bizarro crowded round the tiny tree Jason had bought for their hideout himself. Bizarro is in a Santa hat and is carefully giving Pup Pup a tinsel scarf. 

It makes Jason feel ridiculously gooey, like he’s one of Alfred’s fancy chocolate desserts where the inside is all warm and melted and oozes out when you stick a fork in it. 

He sends his replies, still smiling dazedly down at the screen, when he feels someone come up beside him. 

“You look happy,” Bruce says, and Jason looks up at Bruce watching his gaggle of children, teammates, _friends_ hurling snowballs at each other. 

“Yeah,” Jason says. “I guess I am.”

“I’m glad,” Bruce replies, weirdly warm and soft.   


Jason pockets his phone, then darts as fast as he can to the ground to scoop up an armful of snow. Bruce beats him to it, and dunks so much snow down the back of Jason’s coat he shrieks. 

Jason’s working a case with Bruce, which is something he’s starting to do a lot more now. 

It’s going surprisingly well. They still argue a hell of a lot, but they always cool off and things seem to slide back to normal far easier than they ever had before. 

Sometimes Bruce says things like, “Good work, Jason,” and Jason feels all weirdly warm. He kind of likes that feeling. 

They’re sharing shitty takeout in an abandoned office block while they stakeout a meeting opposite when Bruce, abruptly, says, “I’m very proud of you.”

Jason drops his binoculars. The scramble to pick them up hides his red face, at least. 

“Oh. Thank you.”

“It’s not something I say enough,” Bruce continues, like Jason’s not internally freaking out. “But I want you to know I am.”

“Thanks,” Jason says again, mouth dry. He turns around, and they look at each other in the dark. Jason swallows, then says, “Love you too, old man.”

**Author's Note:**

> that Robin scene is of course based on the adorable and heartbreaking scene in the UTRH movie (the bludhaven explosion thingy is also from UTRH)
> 
> hope you enjoyed!! as always, comments + kudos are v much appreciated <33


End file.
